


Mountains

by dragonofdispair



Series: Unrelated Prompt Responses [32]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Energy Field Sexual Interfacing, M/M, Relationship Discussions, Sensory Overload, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-War: Negotiating a sexual relationship around severe oversensitivity…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Writing group challenge to write about an object (or other noun) that most people have one reaction to, but the written character has the opposite reaction. I started one story, but ended up with this one. Fortunately it still fit.
> 
> (Yes Dragon actually wrote a stickyfic… well, actually they just discuss sticky sexual interfacing, then end up doing some field play after the end-curtain falls, but still. They have STICKYBITS!!!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl doesn’t like being touched; Jazz thinks that's kinky.

Prowl had, thus far, never been happier in a relationship. He fully acknowledged that more issues could -- even would -- crop up, eventually. They had been dating for five decaorns after all, and sleeping together for half that -- plenty of time for something to go wrong, any day now. He just hadn't expected it to be _tonight_.

“What’s wrong with our usual activities?” He asked, desperate to build some arguments that would divert the confrontation -- and the nasty break up that would follow. Polyhexians had high sex drives: maybe, “Have I left you unsatisfied in some way?”

Jazz just looked annoyed. Prowl’s doorwings sagged a bit; he’d guessed wrong. He mentally catalogued the things he had to take with him when he left Jazz’s apartment tonight, since it appeared he might not be welcome back. The list was surprisingly long; he hadn’t realized he’d been spending so much time here.

“No,” Jazz finally said, which relieved Prowl, even though he still worried about what his lover wanted. It was occasionally difficult -- if enjoyable -- keeping up with a Polyhexian’s interfacing drive. “You haven’t, but all this time we’ve just been doing what _I_ want. I’m just trying to sure we do what _you_ want, too. I don’t like this being all one-sided s’all.”

“I’m fine,” Prowl said automatically. Maybe he could salvage this? He liked Jazz’s spike. That sounded like the sort of reassurance Jazz maybe would like to hear, if he was really worried about Prowl’s wants here, so he said it: “I like your spike. I like your spike in my valve.”

The other mech looked torn between a wolfish grin and pained. “You like it, but is that what you _want?_ ”

Was that all he needed to avert disaster? “Yes?” Prowl hazarded, because yes, he did very much want Jazz’s spike in his valve. And they’d already discussed that Prowl _didn’t_ want the reverse. _Jazz_ said he was satisfied with the toy Prowl used instead, when they played that way, but...

“That a question or an answer, Prowl?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jazz. You are the most beautiful, talented, _patient_ mech I have ever met, and I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve done together.” And not just in the berthroom. Jazz had always been careful to choose date activities they’d both enjoy -- something Prowl had occasionally failed at.

Jazz sighed and sat down on the couch, gesturing in silent invitation for Prowl to join him. It was a testament of how unsettled this conversation was making _him_ that he was asking to cuddle. Usually the very tactile Polyhexian was more careful rationing his touches to the much more easily overstimulated Praxan, preferring small touches -- a flirtatious holding of hands or even a possessive hand on Prowl’s doorwing -- that Prowl would allow for a much longer time. Full body contact like this would be tolerated for at most a breem.

Carefully Prowl settled next to him. Kneeling on the couch, he twisted and worked his bumper slightly under Jazz’s, then lay his head on top of it. It was somewhat awkward, given their frametypes, but it allowed Prowl to keep his doorwings out of the way, where they wouldn’t end up trapped between their bodies, or between one of their bodies and the couch. Jazz slowly put his hand on the back of Prowl’s neck, but didn’t pet as he would with past lovers. _Petting_ had been discussed -- at length -- when they had first started dating.

Prowl relaxed. This was nice. It always started that way, but wouldn’t be in a few kliks, so he was determined to enjoy it while his glitchy neural net would let him.

“Polyhexians are sexually aggressive,” Jazz finally said, the anger gone from his tone; it was hard for him to stay angry with Prowl curled into him like this, “and I know Praxans generally aren’t. It’s caused me some issues since I moved here.” Prowl knew this. There was a stigma, but Jazz had never fit the image of the crude and boorish Polyhexian Prowl’s fellow officers insisted was standard for that frametype. Jazz was assertive compared to a Praxan, but was also kind, and careful not to pressure, and very quick to back off when Prowl became uncomfortable. Jazz must have been watching Prowl’s doorwings twitch, because he stayed silent while Prowl thought, then continued, “And this is the first time you’ve actually admitted you like being spiked.”

“I thought I had made that clear.” Mostly by mewling, gasping and begging for Jazz to continue.

Jazz snorted. “It’s still good to hear when you’re not blitzed, just so I know I ain’t misinterpreting. There’s a difference between liking something here,” gently he tapped Prowl’s thigh plating, “and wanting it here,” and he tapped Prowl’s head.

“Of course,” Prowl made a note to periodically tell Jazz what he’d liked about interfacing with him. That had been a good point about the differences in their frametypes and attitudes. Not only were Polyhexians more sexually aggressive, but also more outspoken about interfacing. Prowl preferred Jazz’s plain speech on what was a difficult topic for him, given the extensive list of intimate activities his glitchy neural net prevented him from enjoying. Already that sensibility had prevented several issues that usually cropped up regarding Prowl’s oversensitivity -- from his intense dislike of being petted, to his absolute loathing of using his own spike -- as Jazz had insisted on discussing potential activities before engaging in them, but it hadn’t occurred to Prowl to talk about what he _liked_. “I like being spiked. It is the only time I enjoy being touched.”

As if on cue, Prowl’s plating began to itch where it was in contact with Jazz’s. Determined to ignore it for as long as possible, he pressed closer to his lover.

Jazz -- who had seen this often enough -- took his hand off Prowl’s neck and draped his arm over the back of the couch. It helped a little but not enough. “‘Kay. You also haven’t made any requests. Whips, chains… whatever little desires you got lurking in your processor won’t shock me, I promise. Just ask for something. Anything.”

The itching progressed to a phantom burning and with a sigh of defeat, Prowl pushed himself off the couch and away from Jazz.

Nonchalantly, like he’d been waiting for Prowl to get up, Jazz stood and retrieved a pair of energon cubes. Prowl took the moment of scant privacy to get his neural net under control so that when Jazz returned he could brush his fingers over his lover’s flirtatiously. Jazz smiled. “Whatever it is you want,” he whispered, “I won’t laugh.”

Still Prowl hesitated. There _was_ something… but this was always the point where his previous relationships had fallen apart. His oversensitivity was a constant issue, but Praxans weren’t generally tactile to begin with; he’d actually expected it to be a much bigger problem to Jazz, who was extremely tactile, than it had been to others. And his sensor glitches and the resulting migraines didn’t help anything at all, but _this_ was often what drove his partners away.

Doorwings betraying just how apprehensive he was, Prowl gave in and whispered. “Field play.”

“Field play?” Jazz’s voice was incredulous, but as promised he didn’t laugh, “Why so shy? Ain’t like that’s kinky at all.”

It wasn’t, but, “I don’t like to be touched, at all, while engaged in that activity. Or after.”

Prowl squirmed. Field play wasn’t kinky. Most mechs even liked it enough to overload on it, but it was generally considered foreplay. If Jazz was serious about trying it, then they wouldn’t be engaging in any other sort of interfacing until Prowl had gone through his dial-back routine -- what Jazz sometimes called his “aftercare”: a long soak in a scalding hot cleanser bath and a full sensor reboot. It occasionally took joors, during which Jazz would be left frustrated.

Jazz’s smile was wry. “With your oversensitivity, it amazes me some days you like ‘facing at all. We’ll do this, and I won’t touch you at all.” He stepped closer, close enough for Prowl to feel the aroused heat coming off his frame. “I _want_ to do this.”

“Tonight?” Prowl was very uncertain still.

“Sure! Sounds like fun,” Jazz’s smirk turned sultry. “A bit of exercise in self-control. Maybe we’ll pull out those chains after all. Or at least your cuffs.”

“JAZZ!”

.

.

.

End


	2. Molehills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When holding hands proves to be a bigger relationship hurdle than he expected, Jazz doesn’t care how far he has to reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12drakon thought I should do a sequel about Jazz and Prowl actually doing their field play. This is not that sequel.
> 
> Thanks to 12drakon for beta'ing this, and the previous chapter.

To be completely, one-hundred-and-ten percent, utterly, Primus-strike-him-down-if-he-lied truthful, cliche as it may have sounded, Jazz had fallen for Prowl for his _mind_. Head over heels, Jazz had tumbled into that first logic trap, paid that first speeding ticket, and never managed to escape.

Mech had a fine chassis, he could not deny, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been a cosmic-rust-plagued constructicon: Jazz wanted Prowl.

First, second and third date had gone without a touch at all -- just Jazz hanging onto every word -- but Jazz had lived in repressed Praxus a while and knew better than to expect a kiss right away. No need to ruin this with a harassment charge, filed by a police officer no less. So he moved slowly enough not to spook a Praxan. Even if Prowl seemed shy even by the standards of his own frametype.

Dancing at a club might be fine fourth -- or third, or second, or really any -- date in Polyhex, but he didn’t think that would go over well with a mech he hadn’t yet managed to kiss, and Prowl seemed to like quiet better, anyway. Jazz winced thinking of the near-disastrous second date where Prowl had chosen to attend a math problem-solving competition. He hadn’t been able to hide his boredom -- it was Prowl’s processor Jazz loved, not these other mechs’ -- which had distraught Prowl. Jazz had finally started pestering Prowl to tell him the answers before the competitors. Relieved, Prowl had started walking Jazz through solving the complex problems and their whispers and giggles had gotten loud enough that one of the event staff had come over to politely say, “I’m sorry, officer, but I’m going to ask you and your companion to leave.” Most polite he’d ever been kicked out of a venue since coming to Praxus, but a first for Prowl. They went for a walk after. Prowl had been mortified, not just by being asked to leave, but by choosing a date activity so unsuited to his companion. Jazz had danced around the crystal park they were walking in, singing little self-deprecating ditties and asking Prowl to come up with more and more complex math problems for his entertainment, until Prowl was okay again. When the mech had given him a tiny, shy smile, Jazz’d thought him so beautiful and it was maybe time to try for a kiss. But Prowl had pulled away, keeping the distance between them, and Jazz hadn’t pushed.

Instead he’d revised his goals. Kissing was obviously off the table for now. He’d start with holding hands. A third date -- a quiet music venue Prowl had chosen as an apology for his choice of the math competition -- had failed to accomplish that goal, but Jazz was undeterred.

So for a fourth date Jazz chose a little cafe that looked like it wouldn't pass a basic cleanliness inspection, and which wasn’t in the slum only because Praxus somehow managed not to have true slums. Place didn’t have a name and served mostly Praxus’ little ghetto of immigrants, but it had the _best_ Polyhexian zirconium-nickel mix he’d ever tasted -- even better than he could get in Polyhex. Also while it may be busy enough inside, there was trio of folding tables in the alley next door that Afterscraps only showed to her favorite customers.

And Jazz was _the_ favorite customer of the elderly Poly-femme.

She’d been bugging Jazz to bring his “new beau” around for a while. Apparently he’d been walking around, visibly in love. Which was a great song-lyric and he shamelessly told her he was using it as such, even as he denied it applied to him. But the little old busy-femme was undeterred. She, at least, would be happy with Jazz using her place as a date-night.

It didn’t escape Prowl’s notice how his police-car alt seemed to empty the streets around them as they drove through Little Polyhex -- of course it didn’t. They arrived without mishaps, and Jazz led him into the little energon-cafe to order.

It was as busy as ever, and no one noticed the police-car in their midst at first. Prowl flinched anyway, the onslaught of noise driving his doorwings back defensively. Jazz thought it a bit of an extreme reaction for the collection of domestic servants, factory workers, artists (maybe one fence, back there hiding in the corner, careful not to make any sudden moves that would catch the predatory gaze of a Praxan police officer), and other patrons who frequented Afterscraps’ little hole in the wall. But Jazz knew his people had a bit of a rep here in Praxus; maybe they were making Prowl as nervous as a police-alt made them. It got even more awkward when Prowl’s doorwings and paint were noticed and the little place did go unnaturally quiet, which made Prowl’s doorwings flare out, adding a bit of aggressive to his defensive.

Nothing for it, except to get them in the alley and out of sight quickly, for everyone’s sake. “Afterscraps!” Jazz called out, ignoring the quiet patrons, “You busybody old femme, get out here and meet my new beau! You’re the one who’s been pestering me to bring him around!”

Remembering only after he’d said it that a Praxan might not appreciate the Polyhexian pet name, Jazz looked back to see how Prowl was taking it. Embarrassed, if he was any judge, and he vowed to apologize once they were alone. His announcement did patch a bit of first-aid mesh on some of the awkward; patrons slowly started chatting back and forth, discussing this new development. Polys did love to gossip.

Prowl’s doorwings even relaxed a bit, though he was still visibly uncomfortable in the cafe. Not to mention practically clinging to the closed door like a space barnacle.

Afterscraps came bustling out of the kitchen, giving Jazz a quick, enthusiastic hug, “Finally! Let me see you,” she said to Prowl. Afterscraps was about half Prowl’s height and probably only a third his mass and Prowl still looked intimidated.

“Good evening,” he said politely just the same, “I’m pleased to meet one of Jazz’s friends.”

The femme gave Prowl a _very_ thorough once-over. “Rowr!” Prowl’s doorwings went from defensive to defensive _and_ embarrassed. “He’s a keeper.” She said to Jazz before turning back to Prowl. “Welcome to my little corner of the neighborhood.”

Prowl sidestepped the attempt to hug him. “I’m honored.”

“Why don’t you two go find a seat in the alley,” she said, giving Jazz a sidelong look, “I’ll bring out a pair of Z-N mixes and a plate of goodies in a breem.”

Jazz held the door for Prowl like a gentlemech and was about to follow when Afterscraps caught his arm. “You know you’ll have to go slow with that one, right?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Goal for tonight is holding hands.”

She chuckled and let him go to get their orders.

Prowl relaxed a ton once in the quiet of the alley.

“Sorry for making a scene in there,” Jazz said as he watched Prowl choose a table. “Didn’t think before I called you that.”

“I know I might not be completely aware of the nuances, but it’s like ‘sweetspark’, correct?” Jazz nodded in response, “And someone needed to say something to alleviate the tension,” Prowl continued as he carefully tested the rickety-looking chair to see if it would hold his weight, and Jazz smiled at his look of surprise when it proved sturdily solid.

“These chairs’re for constructicons, mostly,” Jazz said, sprawling into his own chair across from Prowl’s. “They gotta be sturdy or they’ll go find someplace else to eat.”

“I see.”

Well that was a great conversation starter.

Jazz tried again. “Afterscraps don’t mean any harm. She just likes hugging.”

“I…” Prowl looked down, “I didn’t actually think she did. Your people are very outspoken compared to Praxans, this is true, and that includes the topic of sexuality. You are very assertive and very tactile mechs. Both are correlated here in Praxus with the profile of a sexual aggressor, but statistically only a handful of sexual assaults reported in Praxus are proven to have been committed by a Polyhexian immigrant,” as he spoke, he became more comfortable and animated, and Jazz felt his smile take on a besotted edge. “90% of harassment cases leveled against a Polyhexian are proven to be misunderstandings, for which the Polyhexian ‘aggressor’ is genuinely apologetic. Those numbers are even lower in your own city: even with a victim of sexual assault or harassment being almost 80% more likely to report a crime, the number of said crimes reported in Polyhex is still 15% lower.” Prowl paused, glanced up at Jazz, who quickly snapped his jaw shut. “The numbers simply do not support the stigma your people have here in Praxus.”

There was that beautiful, gorgeous, stunning _mind_ of his again, and Jazz just couldn’t help but blurt out, “I love you,” when Prowl’s optics met his visor. Prowl’s doorwings drew back defensively again and Jazz hastened to continue. “I ain’t trying to pressure you into anything at all, but I absolutely adore the way your mind tackles things. I could sit here listening to you work through… anything, really.”

Prowl blinked, but didn’t relax. “Even if we never interfaced at all?”

Was Prowl asexual? It’d explain a good deal if he was. Jazz was determined to not let it get in the way of the best thing to ever happen to him. “Even if,” he said firmly.

An asexual partner wasn’t the end of the world after all, just took a bit -- okay, _a lot_ \-- of negotiation to pull off. Just meant he needed a new set of goals: interfacing was something you did with a mech you loved, not something that defined love. As they both thanked Afterscraps for the energon and goodies, Jazz started making a mental list of his friends back in Polyhex to call and see if he could tap the rumor mill for some advice on dating someone who wasn’t into sex.

Prowl was the one who brought those plans to a screeching halt. “I have a glitch in my neural net that means touch is physically uncomfortable.”

Jazz’s optic band blinked off, then back on to see that, if anything, Prowl was even more defensive now than he had been a klik ago. “That’s…” _Different than asexual_ , was his first thought, and he clamped his vocalizer down on it before it escaped. Not an assumption he wanted Prowl to know he’d made. All those times Prowl had let Jazz come close enough to _almost_ touch, but then pulled away, the preference for quiet activities, even the way he’d flinched when entering Afterscraps’ little cafe, all of them realigned themselves in Jazz’s mind in light of this new information. The little flinches away became a caution of a mech who wasn’t sure his companion would understand when he pulled away after a klik. Quiet activities meant less mechs moving around him, and less chance for accidental brushes of plating. To Prowl’s optics, the little cafe was not filled with potentially aggressive Polyhexians; it was filled with _mechs_ crowded together on benches around tables that were crammed closely together, and with no place to sit where he wouldn’t be squished up against at least two others.  “I’m impressed you said yes to a first date then. How uncomfortable?”

Now it was Prowl’s turn to blink in surprise. “You’re not going to ask if I’m sure, or if I’ve seen a medic?”

“No one knows what you’re feeling except you. You say it’s uncomfortable, then you’re sure,” Jazz scoffed, suddenly supremely not impressed with any of Prowl’s previous, theoretical, partners, if that was the first question they’d all asked, “and I assume that, given your beautiful, analytical self, you’ve seen a medic about it -- probably several -- and there ain’t anything to be done.”

Still a bit nonplussed, Prowl murmured, “You would be right.”

“So,” Jazz continued when those pretty doorwings indicated Prowl’s thoughts had calmed down from ‘frantic’ to ‘considering’, “that brings us to the question that actually affects us, and any relationship -- of _any_ sort -- we might have: how uncomfortable? Scale of one to ten, if that helps you.”

That sent those doorwings back to ‘frantic’ levels of thought. Jazz would’ve bet actual shanix Prowl had never been asked to analyze what he was feeling. “It varies depending on who or what is touching me, what kind of orn I’ve had thus far, how many other things are going on around me at the time.” Suddenly determined, he leaned forward, into Jazz’s personal space, “I’ve had lovers before, and contact in that context starts out pleasant and usually remains such long enough to accomplish foreplay --”

Jazz held up a hand to stop him, because Prowl was starting to sound both desperate and aggressive. Desperate to convince Jazz he wasn’t a dead-end as a potential partner, he was sure. Aggressive… well, just because his sensors had a bit of a glitch didn’t mean the mech inside couldn’t get touch-starved, or didn’t have desires.

“I ain’t going anywhere Prowl,” he assured. “This ain’t anything but a little bump. We’ll talk about what we want and what you need in a little bit.” Prowl looked relieved. He gave Jazz a small, shy smile, and Jazz swore it lit up the entire alley. Where were the fireworks? Weren’t there supposed to be fireworks for stuff like this? Giddy, and yet careful to keep his tone gentle, “You said it starts pleasant, so how about we start with just holding hands for a bit,” he laid his hand, palm up, on the table between them, as unthreatening as he could make it. “For as long as you want.”

Prowl eyed Jazz’s hand as though it might jump up and bite him. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he put his own hand on top. White plating touched black, tense, ready to pull back at the first bit of discomfort. Jazz waited while Prowl relaxed, his doorwings finally settling into a pleased position, then allowed their fingers curled together.

And _there_ were those fireworks.

.

.

.

End


End file.
